


Promise you’ll be here when I wake up

by hinatella



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinatella/pseuds/hinatella
Summary: Sometimes the thought of losing the people he cares about keeps Cain up at night.
Relationships: Cain/Reinhardtzar (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	Promise you’ll be here when I wake up

Cain opens his eyes.

He knows immediately that he’s where he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t know how he knows, but when he stares up at the sky that looks so familiar like he’s seen this same view hundreds of times before, and then turns his head and realizes that someone should be laying next to him but _isn’t_ —it’s just grass, dying withering blades of grass—he _knows._

There’s a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach that he chooses to ignore because it’s what he does best at times like this. Cain swallows it down, pretends he doesn’t choke, as he stands up from the spot in the field of grass he was lying in. He doesn’t notice the Cain-shaped patch of dirt, out of place and omnosity amongst the greenery.

(He, especially, doesn’t notice the space in the dying grass that pales in comparison to his own, could eat his form twice over with its size, and the little sprouts that are growing there.)

While he walks, Cain thinks about where he’d been prior. He is definitely on an airship traveling across a new skydom he’d never set his eyes on before. He remembers thinking about how amazing it was that despite being under the same sky it was tinged a different hue. Cain notices that the sky of this place--wherever _this place_ is, is also painted a different hue. But it was familiar somehow. He couldn’t explain it. The sky is bathing in the shades of an aged photograph. This place is an oxymoron: full of old tattered buildings and new ones with no signs of life. It’s all familiar but it isn’t. It makes sense, but it doesn’t. It’s a place that shouldn’t exist anymore, but it’s here. Cain shouldn’t be here.

But he is.

The fact that this isn’t real becomes even more apparent as Cain steps onto the recognizable cobblestone paths that decorated the city of Torhid. He was just on grassy fields and the moment his heels make rhythmic clacking sounds, he looks down, studies the stonework, then looks back up and sees a broken palace that he hasn’t laid his eyes on in years. It appears before his eyes, yet it’s been here the whole time.

He feels more than hears his mouth form around the words _what—_

_Cain!_

Is that in his head? Is it real? He can’t tell, only goes by intuition as he wipes his head around and he sees something fuzzy and vaguely human shaped. His eyes can’t make out what it is but he knows. He _knows_.

His legs start moving before his brain can catch up. His hand is in front of him reaching out to the back of the figure he knows too well, and his feet feel like they’re dragging behind him as he runs and runs and runs and trips and calls out to Abel and tells his late brother that he'll save him this time…

Then there’s a flash of light, so bright his retinas scream. (Or maybe it’s him.)

Cain opens his eyes.

He’s falling through the skies. He knows now that he’s in Nalhegrande. The skies are painted in yellows and reds and dotted with gray.

It takes a second to clear his head—as much as he can manage when he’s in mid-air—and make the realization that he isn’t falling at all. He’s suspended in the sky and weightless. It takes another second to realize that those gray dots in the sky aren’t false stars in this weird mindscape he’s found himself in.

They’re large large pieces of stone as big as airships. Vast like islands. And they’re coming straight for him. He covers his eyes tight enough to hurt and covers his head with his arms like that will do anything and waits for something to happen. And when nothing does, he peeks an eye open and watches as the boulders pass through his body like it’s made of the air he’s drifting on.

He thinks, _ah_ , _that’s how I’m floating,_ like this makes perfect sense. (Like everything else. It doesn’t. But if he rationalizes too much he’ll start to panic instead.)

But it seems some outside force refuses to allow him peace of mind, because a slap in the face comes in the form of a boulder shaped like an airship, like the _Grandcypher_ , hurtling in his direction. It’s unsettling, but he tries to think nothing of it.

That is, until he spots the small, human shaped figures of the Djeeta and the rest of the crew on the helm of the ship. They’re frozen in air, yet they’re moving along with the ship shaped rock tumbling fast towards Cain and down past the point of buoyancy. It strikes a real sense of fear and an even realer sense of deja vu in him—his skin quakes to life with the goosebumps that raise across the surface as he can do nothing but watch. He wants to save her this time-- save them but he feels bound by that cruel, cruel force.

The air from his not-really-there lungs escape his body, ripped from him as the rock ship collides with him.

Cain opens his eyes.

He’s in an area completely unknown to him now. It’s just a void, a haze of monochrome grays. It’s quiet, too. Cain thinks he hears the sound of wind in the air, but it might be the blood rushing in his ears instead, filling the too-quiet silence that makes him uncomfortable.

Finally, though, sound fills his ears. He strains to make out the source and tell what it is. It’s a constant clashing, like metal to flesh. It’s a sound Cain’s heard so many times and hates so wholly.

He walks in the direction he thinks the sound is coming from. It’s hard to tell when he can’t differentiate up from down and left from right here. The sounds themselves seem to bounce off nothing and spin him in circles.

It’s difficult to tell if he’s getting any closer, but suddenly the dark void gives way to a horrifying scene that lets him know that he’s found it. Or rather, _it_ found _him._

There stands a figure, trembling like an earthquake, spear in hand as they use their free, ichor-tainted hand to clutch at their side. Around them, a mass of black blobs at their feet, connected by nothing from the inky black liquid that's running down the lone standing figure’s hand. Devastation in the aftermath.

Cain can’t feel anything here. No warmth, no temperatures, nothing. And yet he can’t stop shivering.

The figure standing in front of him shifts soundlessly, and Cain can’t see a face, but he’s sure they’re staring at him. It feels like he’s in the middle of Silverwind Stretch. The stare with eyes he can’t even see pinning him in place; icicles on the ground.

He shakes and shakes and shakes and then—pauses. The figure drops the spear—the sound it makes when it hits the ground is inconceivably loud, fireworks to his ears—and they clutch their head in their hands and _screams_.

Cain immediately stops shaking, Stops moving. Breath caught in his throat because he recognizes that voice. That’s—

_Cain._

Leona?

_Cain_.

She sounds so pained.

_Cain. Cain. Cain. Cain. Cain._

_Leo-nee? Are you okay? Are you here? Are you—_

_Cain. Cain. Caincaincaincaincain—_

Cain can do nothing but sit there, frozen, as a new spear begins to materialize in the figure’s hand, and he watches in horror as it tears itself apart, split in half from exertion.

He thinks, _ah._

And as his vision fills with the inky black ichor that runs a trail towards his bare feet: _I failed to save another one._

.

.

.

Cain opens his eyes. Sits up in his bed. Lifts his arms above his head in a spine tingling stretch as he yawns.

He scratches his messy bed hair as he looks around the room. It’s—not right. Something feels off, but he can’t place the feeling that sits like an annoying tick in the back of his head, gnawing at the edges of his memories.

The slide from his bed is slow, languid and unhurried. He steps outside of his door and stalks down the quiet halls, and as he walks to the sound of his barefeet walking along the wooden floors, he makes the realization that he’s on the Grandcypher right now. There’s something unsettling about this fact, and he doesn’t understand why. He feels like he shouldn’t be here. That he doesn’t deserve to be here.

Cain is left wrestling with this mish mash pot of confusion and agitation and fear and anxiety churning a whirlpool in his stomach as he continues down this seemingly endless hall. He finally reaches an open doorway and rubs the stinging sunlight from his eyes.

When his eyes clear, he sees an open deck full of familiar faces. It almost makes him sigh in abject relief.

Almost.

Until he notices the somber atmosphere that clutches his neck and tightens like a vice. It’s a little suffocating to say the least. Cain’s finger twitches, nearly going straight for the phantom string that isn’t actually there.

He takes one slow step. Two. Notices that everyone is gathered around a giant wooden box that he can’t quite make out. It’s big enough to hold a draph.

He sees Rackam and Eugen with downcast eyes that won’t meet his. It doesn’t feel good. He’s filled with unmitigated _guilt_.

Three steps. Four.

Rosetta and Katalina are staring right at him, and somehow that’s even worse. He wants to disappear.

Five steps and six and he’s next to Io. She’s teary eyed, wobby-lipped, and clutching her staff so tightly it’s like she means to break it in half. She looks at him and asks, _why?_

Why what? Cain asks like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He walks up further, sees Lyria and Vyrn and the face of a captain he does and doesn’t know. Lyria is the only other person to speak to him as she answers the questions floating around in his head like she’s an oracle, the questions he’s too afraid to speak lest they become real.

But he knows it’s too late for that.

_He was a good person to the end. Sacrificing himself because he thought there was no better way. Even though it was your plan._

The vice on Cain’s neck pulls _taunt_ , makes him lurch forward towards that box against his will. He closes his eyes and tries so hard to take breaths that won’t come despite all the air they’re surrounded by and tells himself over and over that this isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real, thisisn’trealthisisn’trealthiisn’treal—

✂

Cain opens his eyes, very quickly, reels and jerks forward like there’s fire against his back. He narrowly misses headbutting the person in front of him.

He clutches the front of his shirt, so, so big for him that it makes him look like he’s drowning in fabric everytime, but right now it clings to his sweat slick skin as he blinks and looks up at the face he feels like he’s been missing for days.

This feels real. It’s hard to be sure, when everything _felt_ real and plausible before he’d woken up but this time—

This time Reinhardtzar is staring over him, his big frame covering his entire vision so all Cain can see is him. And he’s here. Very real, very tangible, caressing Cain’s face with a gentle hand like he knows Cain needs to know that he’s palpable.

Cain quickly glances at his surroundings. It’s a little dark, save for the one lone oil lamp Reinhardtzar must’ve turned on a short while ago. It’s only just begun burning.

“Cain,” he speaks, and Cain likes his voice, that’s no surprising fact, but hearing it right now feels like a balm to his addled soul with the way it makes him shiver in relief, “Are you alright?”

He laughs a little like he’s delirious and says with all the casualness he doesn’t feel, “I could be better.”

“I can tell,” Reinhardtzar tells him.He gestures towards the hand Cain has on him, clutching his forearm hard enough to leave indents. “What isn’t real?”

An apology barely above a whisper is murmured as Cain lets go. Reinhardtzar frowns and doesn’t let him get very far as he takes one of his hands in his and squeezes it gently. Cain moves subconsciously when he loosely links their fingers together. He gives him a look that tells Cain that Reinhardtzar won’t let whatever just happened lay to rest and be forgotten.

Cain is too busy thinking about whether it’s worth it to bother Reinhardtzar with this again at such a late hour, whether he should brush it off as nothing and insist they go back to sleep. But he knows that Reinhardtzar won’t rest until Cain spits it out, and Reinhardtzar is nothing if not stubborn and impatiently patient.

Plus, they agreed so long ago that they’d talk to each other about anything. No secrets. No stewing in self-doubts and fears until they’re cooked from the inside out.

A long sigh leaves Cain’s lips, bone weary and so, so tired.

Reinhardtzar speaks for him when he thinks Cain is ready to start talking. “Was it the nightmare again?”

Cain nods.

“Same one?”

“Same one. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

It’s the same, like always. He lays awake at night when Reinhardtzar chastises him about staying up too late—but he’s a night owl, he can’t help it—and he doesn’t fall asleep for ages; the only company he’s awarded are the shadows in the room and Reinhardtzar’s soft, rhythmic breathing. And then his mind wanders, and he starts thinking about how lucky he is to be here now, despite all the mistakes he’s made in the past that should’ve bound him to Idelva as some form of atonement. And he’ll fall asleep with those thoughts floating in his mind like thin wisps of smoke that manifest into dark clouds. And when he awakens it’s all he can think about.

It’s always the same, like clockwork: Abel first, then the crew on the Grandcypher, then Leona. But this time, he dreamt about Reinhardtzar. Or a lack of him. And that’s never happened before. It scares him.

It’s as though whatever deity out there that controls his dreams deems Reinhardtzar important enough to torment Cain with sleepless nights at the thought of losing him.

Cain tells him all of this, more or less.

All he’s met with is silence, as Reinhardtzar sits up, back against the wall, dragging his hand so it sits comfortably around Cain’s waist. He gently coaxes Cain closes, and Cain takes that as an invitation to sit in his lap.

“You know, you need to stop worrying so much,” he starts. Cain sighs and rests his head against Reinhardtzar’s chest, limp and moping because he’s heard that too many times before.

“Not like I can blame you, though,” Reinhardtzar continues. “You’re so dumb I often wonder if today’s the today I’ll really lose you because you decided to be self-sacrificing, like usual.”

Cain sputters, choking on air. “Hey!” He’s rocked with the movement of Reinhardtzar laughing under his breath.

Crossing his arms, he says, “I wouldn’t do that to you and Leona. If only because I’m scared she’ll drag my body out of the Otherworld just to kill me again.”

Reinhardtzar hums in silent agreement. “You’d deserve it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

There’s a stretch of quiet that’s comfortable. Cain feels himself melting against Reinhardtzar like molasses, feels the steady beat of his heart drumming against the tune of his own breathing. Reinhardtzar starts petting at his hair, and the calming action of it coaxes any tension left in his body away. He’s so cozy, eyes heavy with the tiredness of the day and sleepiness of the night, seconds away from sleeping just like this.

But Reinhardtzar speaks again, snapping Cain back to reality. “You know that I would do anything for you, even if that means getting hurt.”

“Ha,” Cain laughs a little humorlessly. “That includes sacrificing yourself for my own sake too, apparently.” He thinks he says it too quietly to be audible, but Reinhardtzar has never needed ears to understand Cain.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Cain attempts to deflect.

“We have language for a reason, Cain.”

“You’re not allowed to use _that_ on _me_.”

Reinhardtzar only shrugs.

Cain sighs and grumbles like his hand is being forced. “In my dream. You died. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I knew it was my fault.”

“I see,” Reinhardtzar says like they’re discussing air currents and this is completely normal. “If it came down to it, if it meant saving the people I care about, I might be stupid enough to do it. But,” he squeezes the hand that’s wrapped snug around Cain’s waist, “call me selfish, I’d do just about anything to stay by your side.”

Cain expects another quib at his expense. But it doesn’t come. His heart jolts, stabbed with Reinhardtzar’s words, and the draph doesn’t realize he dealt a fatal blow.

“I care about you far too much to do that to you, you know. And I know full well that you’d hate yourself forever and never forgive yourself, even if it were my own decision. So I won’t carelessly throw myself in front of a blade for your own sake.”

“So you’d let me die instead.”

“Idiot,” Reinhardtzar knocks the hand that was continuously petting his hair against the top of his head. Cain silently mourns the loss of the gentle ministrations and he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut for two seconds. “Who said anything about letting you die? I’ll keep us both alive if I have to, because there’s no use staying by each other’s side if the one of us is missing, is there?”

“Ah—” Cain’s usually so good at talking, that it surprises him every time when he’s at a loss for words. And Reinhardtzar manages to do it effortlessly, time and again, taking him by surprise. He could cry. He nearly does, feeling the telltale pinprick welling up against his eyelids.

“For someone who’s so hellbent on trying to fix other people’s problems, You have a terrible habit of ignoring yours. Are you crying?”

“What? No! Pffft, I don’t _cry,_ ” Cain lies, waving away the silly idea with one hand while the other rubs at his eyes.

Reinhardtzar blinks slowly. “Really,” he says, convinced. “Didn’t you cry the first time I told you that I lo—”

“Shut up! No! No, I didn’t!” It was raining that day and Cain swears to the skies that the water near his eyes was from the downpour they just escaped and not the welling of warm emotions threatening to overflow from his belly. But it doesn't matter what it was, Reinhardtzar will never let him live it down.

Case in point, Reinhardtzar raises an eyebrow.

Cain attempts to swerve away from that line of conversation. “As if you’re any better at addressing your own problems.”

“Heh,” Reinhardtzar laughs. Hugs him tight and laughs again. Bends down so his lips are nestled into the soft locks of his hair and laughs some more. (Cain doesn’t understand what’s so funny.)

Cain feels like he’s in the middle of a storm with the way he shakes with the movement. He squeezes a hand hard around Reinhardtzar’s finger to hang on.

“You don’t have to hold me so tight, Cain, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Argh—’Tzar!” He tips over and slips out of Reinhardtzar’s hold, stands on his feet on the bed—laments the fact that he’s only barely standing over Reinhardtzar like this even though he’s _sitting_ what the _hell_ —and shakes him by the shoulders. He hardly moves an inch. “You can’t sit there and tease me like this while I'm vulnerable. That’s not allowed.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

Reinhardtzar breathes once through his nose and wraps a hand around Cain’s waist again like it’s tethered there permanently. “So whiny.”

Cain can’t help it. He’s running on half a night’s sleep, jitters and nightmares, and Reinhardtzar’s earnest and too-much-to-handle love declarations. He doesn’t want what else he’s supposed to do. His brain is running half a second slower than usual.

So when he leaves down to press a kiss against Reinhardtzar’s smiling mouth, it takes half a second to process it.

Cain wraps both hands around the back of Reinhardtzar’s head, tugs at his hair like he’s trying to fight him, and Reinhardtzar sounds so amused as he chuckles some more and brings the both of them back down onto the bed. Cain doesn’t pull away until their bodies bouncing against the surface forcibly pulls him apart, and then he’s back again, kissing Reinhardtzar silly.

Reinhardtzar is the one who pulls away this time. He opens his mouth to say something but Cain cuts in fast.

“You’re the worst, actually.”

His brows fly up on his forehead.

It’s not exactly what Cain meant to say. He pauses, rewires his brain, shuts his eyes and opens them again (delights in the fact that Reinhardtzar is real and here and looking at him with so much patience and love that he makes him sick; he doesn’t know how to handle it, even now) and he says, “Love you.”

Reinhardtzar smiles—small and so genuine it makes Cain’s insides hurt—cradles the side of his face, and plants a kiss to his forehead, then one on his lips. “Go back to sleep.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up, right?” Cain asks, already drifting. He drapes one hand over Reinhardtzar’s body.

_Always_ , comes the reply.

✦

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [qq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/number_one_dad/pseuds/number_one_dad) for giving me the idea and beta reading ♥♥
> 
> i love the nalhegrande arc so much and i'll never get over reincain and i'm literally crying about them daily please send HELP
> 
> catch me on twitter and yell about them with me [@hinatella](https://twitter.com/hinatella)


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